Come all you jolly fellowsAnd listen to my song.It's all about the shanty boysAnd how they got along.We're the jolliest bunch of fellowsThat ever your could find.The way we spend our winter monthsis hurling down the pine.

At four o'clock each morningThe boss begins to shoutCome all you jolly teamstersIt's time to start the routeThe teamsters they will all jump upIn a most frightful wayWhere is my boots where are my pantsmy socks have gone astray.

At six o'clock it's breakfastAnd every man is outFor every man who is not sickIs sure to be on routeThere's choppers and there's loggersTo lay the timbers lowThere's swampers and there's haulersTo drag it to and fro.

And then comes up the loggerAll at the break of day.Load. up my sleds five hundred feet,To the river drive away.You can here those axes ringingUntil the sun goes down.Hurray me boys! The day is spent.To the shanty we are bound.

And when we reach the shantyWith cold hands and wet feet.We there put on our larrigansOur supper for to eat.We'll sing and dance till nine o'clock,Into our bunks we'll climbThese winter months they won't last longIn hurling down the pine

And then the spring time comes at last,And soon the boss will say."Heave up your saws and axes, boys,And help to clear the way,When the floating ice goes outIn business we will thriveTwo hundred able-bodied menAre wanted of the drive."